The Lighthouse | Page 4

should
change our plan noo."
"We've nae paction to that effec'--the case o' kickshaws is mine,"
retorted Swankie.
"Half o't," suggested Spink.
"Weel, weel," cried the other with affected carelessness, "I'd scorn to be

sae graspin'. For the matter o' that ye may hae it all to yersel', but I'll
hae the next thing we git that's worth muckle a' to _mysel_'."
So saying Swankie stooped to continue his search of the body, and in a
moment or two drew out the purse with an exclamation of surprise.
"See, I'm in luck, Davy! Virtue's aye rewarded, they say. This is mine,
and I doot not there'll be some siller intilt."
"Goold!" cried Davy, with dilated eyes, as his comrade emptied the
contents into his large hand, and counted over thirty sovereigns.
"Ay, lad, ye can keep the what-d'ye-ca'-ums, and I'll keep the siller."
"I've seen that face before," observed Spink, looking intently at the
body.
"Like enough," said Swankie, with an air of indifference, as he put the
gold into his pocket. "I think I've seed it mysel'. It looks like auld Jamie
Brand, but I didna ken him weel."
"It's just him," said Spink, with a touch of sadness. "Ay, ay, that'll fa'
heavy on the auld woman. But, come, it'll no' do to stand haverin' this
way. Let's see what else is on him."
They found nothing more of any value; but a piece of paper was
discovered, wrapped up in oilskin, and carefully fastened with red tape,
in the vest pocket of the dead man. It contained writing, and had been
so securely wrapped up, that it was only a little damped. Davy Spink,
who found it, tried in vain to read the writing; Davy's education had
been neglected, so he was fain to confess that he could not make it out.
"Let me see't," said Swankie. "What hae we here? 'The sloop is hard
an--an--'" ("'fast,' maybe," suggested Spink). "Ay, so 'tis. I canna make
out the next word, but here's something about the jewel-case."
The man paused and gazed earnestly at the paper for a few minutes,
with a look of perplexity on his rugged visage.

"Weel, man, what is't?" enquired Davy.
"Hoot! I canna mak' it oot," said the other, testily, as if annoyed at
being unable to read it. He refolded the paper, and thrust it into his
bosom, saying, "Come, we're wastin' time. Let's get on wi' our wark."
"Toss for the jewels and the siller," said Spink, suggestively.
"Very weel," replied the other, producing a copper. "Heeds, you win
the siller; tails, I win the box;--heeds it is, so the kickshaws is mine.
Weel, I'm content," he added, as he handed the bag of gold to his
comrade, and received the jewel-case in exchange.
In another hour the sea began to encroach on the rock, and the
fishermen, having collected as much as time would permit of the
wrecked materials, returned to their boat.
They had secured altogether above two hundredweight of old
metal,--namely, a large piece of a ship's caboose, a hinge, a lock of a
door, a ship's marking-iron, a soldier's bayonet, a cannon ball, a
shoebuckle, and a small anchor, besides part of the cordage of the
wreck, and the money and jewels before mentioned. Placing the heavier
of these things in the bottom of the boat, they pushed off.
"We better take the corp ashore," said Spink, suddenly.
"What for? They may ask what was in the pockets," objected Swankie.
"Let them ask," rejoined the other, with a grin.
Swankie made no reply, but gave a stroke with his oar which sent the
boat close up to the rocks. They both re-landed in silence, and, lifting
the dead body of the old man, laid it in the stern sheets of the boat.
Once more they pushed off.
Too much delay had been already made. The surf was breaking over
the ledges in all directions, and it was with the utmost difficulty that
they succeeded in getting clear out into deep water. A breeze which had

sprung up from the east, tended to raise the sea a little, but when they
finally got away from the dangerous reef, the breeze befriended them.
Hoisting the foresail, they quickly left the Bell Rock far behind them,
and, in the course of a couple of hours, sailed into the harbour of
Arbroath.

CHAPTER II
THE LOVERS AND THE PRESS-GANG
About a mile to the eastward of the ancient town of Arbroath the shore
abruptly changes its character, from a flat beach to a range of, perhaps,
the wildest and most picturesque cliffs on the east coast of Scotland.
Inland the country is rather flat, but elevated several hundred feet above
the level of the sea, towards which it slopes gently until it reaches